


Pirates!

by NightWings (Kiliann)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cute Kids, Kidlock, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-04-12 01:34:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4460234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiliann/pseuds/NightWings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You join kidlock in a thrilling pirate playground catastrophe (and deal with first-grade DEFCON 1 friendship drama.) Captain Redbeard and his first mate Anne Bonny save the day!</p><p>Originally posted on <a href="http://www.kiliann.deviantart.com">my deviantart</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You still didn't know how to read the colorful clock that was set on the wall just above the door, but you knew that when the teacher told you to put your maths workbooks away that it was recess time.

You'd been in the first grade for a whole week, and already you'd managed to make friends. You loved to chatter, and would talk to just about anyone. As you rushed out the door, you giggled with delight as your eyes met with your "best friend's," Holly. She was a goofy, outgoing girl who liked the same things you did—namely, playing adventure games on the playground. You'd known her for a total of five days, but first grade relationship dynamics proved to be rather simple.

"What do you want to play today?" You grinned and jumped up and down in simple exhilaration.

"I have a doctor appointment. I gotta go down to the office so my mum can pick me up," Holly informed you. She seemed happy about being able to leave school, but your face fell.

"Oh, alright. I'll see you later then!" You waved as she left in the direction of the office. What in the world would you do now? No one else liked playing pretend. You'd probably have to join the other girls who liked coloring pictures. Maybe you could draw an adventure instead of playing in one.

"Ha ha, I've got you now! You'll never get away with this, Captain Blackcrook!" A small boy darted out of the classroom a ways behind everyone, waving his arm about as though he was holding a sword. He was all alone, though—was he playing adventures on his own?

"Hey, what are you doing?" You called after him. He turned around with a fierce look in his blue eyes.

"I'm stopping Captain Blackcrook from taking over my ship!" he cried valiantly.

"Is he a pirate?" Your eyes lit up.

"Yeah, he's an evil pirate," the boy lowered his voice dramatically.

"Can I help you? He sounds very bad," you asked solemnly. The boy nodded. "I'm (f/n). What's your name?"

"I'm Sherlock. But call me Captain Redbeard." He took a step towards you. "You need a pirate name, too. You can be Anne Bonny. She was a real pirate, and she was very ferocious."

"Arr, Captain! But... what does ferocious mean? I heard it before, but I forgot." You looked inquisitively at the strange new boy who used big words. You thought he sounded really smart, and he liked to play adventure games.

"It means strong and good at fighting." Satisfied with this answer, you grinned.

"Come on, Captain Redbeard! We've gotta stop the evil Blackcrook—oh no, look! I see his ship coming! Ready the cannons!" You raced behind the swing set, your new friend following you excitedly.

"Arr, quickly men! We must prepare for battle!"

 

You couldn't wait to show Holly your new game today! Playing pirates with Sherlock was really fun. You fidgeted in your seat, staring at the maths workbook in impatience. If only the bell would ri— _brrring_!

It seemed you couldn't get out the door fast enough. "Holly! Guess what? Me and Sherlock are playing a game with pirates! Do you want to join?"

To your surprise, Holly bit her lip and looked over at the group of girls who were happily chattering away with coloring papers on the group by the classroom door. "Actually," she started, "I kind of want to color today with Jazzy and Hannah."

"Why? Don't you wanna play adventure games?" You were upset that your friend suddenly wanted to join the other girls in their boring coloring.

"Yeah, but I want to color today. Playing pirates is boring." You were shocked. First grade drama at its height—why didn't Holly want to play with you anymore?

"It is not boring! It's fun! I'm gonna go play pirates, so you can come with me or go do coloring, which is even boring-er." Putting up a brave front, you actually felt devastated that your best friend of five days was calling your game boring.

"Is not! Coloring is fun, so you can go play by yourself if that's all you wanna do." Holly looked at you triumphantly, as though daring you to say anything further. Your lip quivered.

"I'm not gonna play by myself, I'm gonna play w-with Sherlock. Have fun doing stupid coloring," you said, turning on your heel and walking in the opposite direction. After a moment, you turned around to see Holly walking away with the other girls as though nothing had happened. You felt tears slide down your cheek.

"What's wrong?" A quiet voice asked from behind.

"H-Holly said she didn't w-want to play with me and th-that playing pirates is boring. I said coloring was stupid, and then she didn't even care, and I don't think sh-she wants to b-be my friend anymore!" you wailed, the drama of friendship catching up to you.

"It's okay, (f/n). We can just play pirates without her. It's more fun that way anyways." Sherlock patted your shoulder as gently as a six-year-old boy could. You smiled a little and looked up at him.

"Yeah, it's more fun without her. Let's go! We still haven't finished the battle! I'm fig—"

"You're fighting off Captain Blackcrook's men while I chase him up to the crow's nest for our final duel!" Sherlock grinned, wielding his imaginary sword.

"Arr, get back, you scallywags!" you cried, whipping your own pretend blade about in wild thwacking motions. It seemed Holly had been quickly forgotten.

By the time the recess bell had rung, Sherlock had defeated Captain Blackcrook, throwing him from the Crow's nest where he landed at your feet. You triumphantly stabbed him through the heart to finish him off.

"Fantastic job, Anne! We've done it!" Captain Redbeard cried, following you in from recess.

"Tomorrow we can go onto his ship and steal all the treasure!" You clapped your hands together in glee.

"Then we can take control of all his men and become the most powerful pirates ever!" Sherlock jumped a little in the air. Once you got to the classroom, you smiled at him as you parted ways. 

"I can't wait for tomorrow!"

You hoped maybe the teacher would change seats so you could sit at his table and plan your pirate adventures together with your new friend.


	2. Reading + Redbeard

You glanced up at the clock from the story rug and then looked over at your dark-haired friend, trying in vain to conceal a grin. In return you saw the corners of his lips turn up for a brief moment before he returned his attention to picking at the yellow letter "G" on the edge of the carpet. Your friend didn't smile as much as you did, but you knew he was as happy as you because he usually didn't smile during class. He was always thinking about something interesting.   
  
This afternoon, you were going over to Sherlock's house after school, and you couldn't be more excited. You gave the clock another hard glance. It was 3... no, 2... 30. 2:30, you thought triumphantly. Only... only one more hour, you concluded. And then you could finally see where your best friend lived! He'd told you about his dog, his big brother, his huge backyard ("There's a big rock we can make our pirate ship on!" he'd told you happily) and all of his books. You couldn't wait to see all of it--his house sounded so exciting! You hugged your knees to your chest and tried to focus on the story to make the time pass.   
  
  
  
As soon as the bell rang, you grabbed your backpack and hurried to the line.   
  
"What does your car look like?" you asked when Sherlock came to stand next to you.   
  
"It's black," he told you. You strained to look past the line leader, searching the parking lot for any black car you could see.   
  
"Is it that one?" you pointed.    
  
Sherlock followed your gaze. "No. Mummy is usually five minutes late because she has to pick up Mycroft. We can sit by the wall and wait."   
  
"Who's My-croff?" Secretly, you envied Sherlock's ability to tell time so quickly. How did he know they had to wait five minutes? Sometimes your mummy told you that you could sleep "five minutes" but it was very fast, and sometimes "five minutes" was too long to wait for her to finish putting something on her eyes in the bathroom. You thought maybe "five minutes" changed sometimes.   
  
"My big brother is called Mycroft," he said, looking around the parking lot. You looked, too, but you weren't sure what you were looking for. "He's in year 9, and he has lots of schoolwork."   
  
"Is he nice?" you wondered. You were a little scared of the big kids, so you hoped he wouldn't be mean to you.   
  
Sherlock shrugged. "Sometimes. He's mean when he has lots of stuff to do, but only to me and mummy and daddy. He'll be nice to you."   
  
You thought about this for a moment. He sounded very scary, you thought. You were almost unhappy when Sherlock cried, "There they are!" but quickly forgot about it when he scampered towards a very shiny black car and you chased after him. When you climbed into the car, a very nice lady was sitting in the driver's seat.   
  
"Hullo, dears! You must be (f/n). Sherlock's told us all about you, hasn't he Myc?" She nudged a figure in the passenger's seat, and you realized there was an older boy there. He must be My-croff, you thought. The boy turned and looked at you for a moment.   
  
"Yeah. Hullo, (f/n)," he greeted you quietly before turning back to the very big book in front of him. He didn't seem mean, but he still looked very old and scary. Sherlock's mum was very kind, though, and she asked you lots of questions and smiled and told you she was very happy to finally meet you. When you pulled up to the house, you shot out of the car as fast as you could.   
  
"C'mon, Sherlock! I wanna see the doggy!" you squealed, a new wave of excitement washing over you.   
  
Sherlock grinned as you followed him up the driveway. "Redbeard! Here, boy!" You heard a jingling noise as Sherlock's mum unlocked the door, and suddenly a blur of brown-ish red fur came pelting towards the two of you. "Down boy, down!" the boy giggled as the dog covered him in sloppy kisses. "Redbeard, this is (f/n). She's our new first mate!"   
  
You reached a hand out shyly to pet the dog--big dogs were also a little scary. Finding him soft, you stroked his fur a little more as he sniffed your other hand, and, deciding he liked you, gave your arm a good, solid lick. You giggled even more. "Good doggy." You smiled at him.   
  
"Let's take him to the backyard and I'll show you the ship!" Sherlock said, tugging the dog by his collar and leading you around the back. You followed happily, skipping after him with glee.   
  
  
  
You spent the afternoon outside climbing the big rock, picking flowers as far as you dared venture into the small forest that lined the yard, and throwing a soggy tennis ball for Redbeard who loved loping across the yard to bring it back.   
  
"Do you two want some cookies and milk?" called a voice from the house, and you looked up to see Sherlock's mum smiling at you. You looked to your friend, who nodded.   
  
"Yeah!" you cried, eager to have a snack and see the inside of the house. "Want to finish our homework inside, too?" you added as Sherlock came up beside you. He thought for a moment and then nodded.   
  
"We can go to my room--I have a big desk and lots of books we can read," he said. Your eyes lit up, and he gave you a smile. You grabbed his arm and ran inside, breathing hard with a huge grin on your face.   
  
  
  
Sherlock's room was painted dark blue, and he had some green glow-in-the-dark stars above his bed, you noted jealously. There were big bookshelves with lots of big, grown-up books.   
  
"My room has most of the bookshelves in it, so some of these are daddy's," he explained. Together, you counted the number of white and shaded circles on your worksheets and made a bar graph with it. Sherlock helped you tell the time on one clock, and you giddily announced the time on the other without any help. Sherlock said you were right, and he looked almost as happy as you. You liked working on homework with friends, you decided.   
  
When it was time to go, your mum found the two of you sitting on Sherlock's bed; you holding a picture book about ambulances and Sherlock reading aloud a big kid chapter book called "Encyclopedia Brown" with mysteries that he liked to let you try and solve before he told you the answer.   
  
"Time to go," your mum called softly, smiling at the two of you.   
  
"Aww," you frowned, stifling a yawn and clambering off the bed. You were getting tired, but you didn't want to go...   
  
"Bye," Sherlock said, closing the book and setting it on his nightstand. You pulled away from your mum's grasp and went to give your friend a hug.   
  
"Bye," you said. "See you tomorrow!"    
  
You fell asleep on the car ride home, dreaming of pirates and playing fetch with Redbeard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO I'M MAKING THIS A SERIES. I'M SO HAPPY THIS MAKES ME SO HAPPY I CAN'T EVEN FUNCTION.  
> Kid!lock is my favoritest thing in the entire world. And I'm gonna continue it into teen!lock and maybe even just regular adult Sherlock and you're gonna be best friends and aHHHH
> 
> British people: I have no idea if I've gotten details about British schooling correct. I've tried very hard to make sure I'm using the proper terms and things, but if at any point I'm incorrect, don't be afraid to let me know down in the comments! Your brit-picking is much appreciated ^^


	3. Rainbow Bridge

You knew something was wrong when Sherlock didn't smile at you after you stepped off the school bus.  
  
He looked up at you before burying his face back into his knees, curled up against the brick wall outside the classroom.  
  
"Sherlock, what's wrong?" you asked, kneeling down to sit beside him. He sniffed, and you realized with horror that he was crying. Sherlock _never_ cried. It must be something very bad. "Are you okay?"  
  
"R-Redbeard is v-very sick. Mycroft s-says they're going t-to put him d-down," he said, his voice breaking on the last word. You put an arm around him and felt him shake as he tried to stifle his sobs. Your expression changed from concerned to almost equally upset.  
  
"Y-you mean he's going to... to die?" you asked in a whisper. A cold feeling laced the pit of your stomach, and you wrapped your other arm around Sherlock's knees, giving him a hug. You felt him nod, and you hugged him even tighter. "Oh, Sherlock, I'm so sorry," you said, feeling a tear trickle down the bridge of your nose. You cried quietly with him, all the while running your memories of the beautiful dog over and over in your mind.  
  
The time you'd put an eye patch on him and made him an honorary crew member.  
  
The time you'd snuck him a treat when Sherlock's mum wasn't in the kitchen.  
  
The time you'd skinned your knee and he'd let you hug him as the wound was being cleaned.  
  
He'd even stayed awake with you when you had your first sleepover at Sherlock's house and you missed your mum and dad.  
  
And now... now he was going to die. You thought about the poor dog, curled up and miserable. He must be really sick for them to have to put him down, you thought. And Sherlock... Sherlock had to sit and watch as his dog slowly left the earth. You couldn't imagine watching anything die. The thought made you hug him even tighter as he let out another mournful whimper.  
  
"I'll go with you," you promised, "I'll go with you when they put him down."  
  
"Okay." His voice was shaky and weak, and you gave a good, long sniff as the bell rang and you had to get to class.  
  
  
  
You managed to find out in between library and music class that Redbeard was going to be put down either today or tomorrow afternoon. Upon arriving at the music lesson, you scurried up to the teacher.  
  
"Excuse me, miss," you started politely. "I need to go down to the office to call my mum. It's... it's an emergency."  
  
Looking a little startled, Ms. Forrester nodded, and you dashed out of class, feeling a little thrilled at skipping class but mostly anxious and sick.  
  
You approached the receptionist at the desk and told her you needed to call your mum. She agreed, and you dialed the numbers your parents had recently made you memorize.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hi mummy, it's (f/n)."  
  
"(F/n)?" she asked, sounding worried. "Is everything okay?"  
  
"No mummy," you said sadly. "Sherlock's dog is going to be put down today or tomorrow, and I was wondering if I could go home with him both days to make sure I can be there with him."  
  
Your mum made a sad sound, like she was upset too. "I'll call Mrs. Holmes to see when they're going to take Redbeard to the vet. You wait outside with Sherlock, and she'll take you with them if it's today, okay?"  
  
You were a little surprised your mum wasn't upset about you calling her during her work, but you were right--it _had_ been an emergency. You were grateful that she understood. "Okay. Thanks, mummy."  
  
"Alright, now go back to class. And tell Sherlock I'm very sorry."  
  
You wrinkled your nose--you weren't sure Sherlock wanted to think about his dog. He might start crying again. "Okay," you told her anyway. "Goodbye."  
  
When you hung up, the receptionist was smiling at you in the way grown-ups did when you said something that wasn't funny but they still laughed at you anyways. "I'm sorry about your friend's dog, dear," she said. She'd been listening in, you thought. Your mum always said it was rude to listen in on others' conversations.  
  
"Thanks," you said quickly, and you ran off to go back to music class.  
  
  
  
Sherlock seemed a little happier when you told him about the call with your mum.  
  
"You called your mum just to see if you could come?" he asked softly. You nodded.  
  
"Of course, Sherlock. That's what friends do. C'mon, let's go get our lunch boxes."  
  
Someone came up behind you as you rifling through your backpack. "What's wrong with Sherlock? He looks sad."  
  
You turned around to see Holly. You still talked with her, and sometimes she played with you and Sherlock at recess when Jazzy and Hannah were being mean to her. She didn't always understand the big words Sherlock used, so you explained what he meant a lot.  
  
"His dog is dying," he explained. "He's very upset, and I am too. I played with him a lot."  
  
Holly gave you a quick hug. "I'm sorry. That's really sad. I hope he'll be okay." You nodded and turned back to get your lunch.  
  
"Sorry about your dog." You heard Holly say over by Sherlock's cubby.  
  
"Thanks," he replied stiffly. You could see by his blank expression that he was upset again.  
  
"What happened?" said another girl.  
  
"Sherlock's dog died," Holly explained inaccurately.  
  
"Actually--" Sherlock started to correct her, but the other girl interrupted him.  
  
"Aww, I'm sorry about your dog."  
  
A handful of other voices chimed in with similar apologies. You knew none of them were really sorry--none of them had as many fun memories with Redbeard as you, and Sherlock had even more. You felt your anger rising, and Sherlock snapped at them before you can.  
  
"Go away!" he cried. "I don't care if you're sorry or not!"  
  
You could tell his words had hurt the other kids, even if he'd yelled at them for a good reason. You were torn between running after Sherlock, who'd taken off down the hall, and confronting the others. When you saw Holly looking at you with a confused look, you decided to stay for a moment.  
  
"He's just really upset and doesn't want to talk about it," you explained to the others. They nodded and seemed to understand, but some of them still looked afraid or upset. "Maybe you shouldn't mention his dog for a while."  
  
With that, you took off down the hall after your friend.  
  
The hallways was empty as you rounded the corner. Where was he? The scuffle of shoes gave him away, and you headed towards the noise, right to the door of... the boys' bathroom? You hesitated. Girls weren't supposed to go in there. But... Sherlock was your friend, and he was sad. So it would be okay just this once.  
  
You opened the door and called softly, "Sherlock?"  
  
"Go away," came the distraught reply.  
  
"Sherlock, it's me. I'm sorry those girls kept talking to you about your dog."  
  
A soft sniff came from one of the stalls. "Why'd you tell them? You knew they were just going to try and give insincere apologies. I thought you were my friend, (f/n)."  
  
Normally you would have cried at those words. But you squared your shoulders and took a step further into the bathroom because Sherlock _was_ your friend, and you knew he would never say something so mean if he wasn't so upset. "Sherlock, I didn't know they were going to talk to you about it. Holly just wanted to know why you looked sad, so I told her."  
  
"Well, why didn't you tell her something else?"  
  
"Well then she would have told you she was sorry about something else that didn't actually happen." You stayed stubbornly put, determined to comfort your friend and apologize. There was silence for a moment, and then the sound of a lock sliding open. When Sherlock emerged, his dark hair was mussed and tear stains ran down his cheeks. You looked at him for a moment and then pulled him into a hug.  
  
"I'm sorry, Sherlock." You hoped he would know you meant it.  
  
He seemed to understand, because he returned your hug after a moment and whispered, "Thank you."  
  
  
  
Tense and silent, you waited with Sherlock for his mum to see if today would be the day Redbeard would go to the other side of the Rainbow Bridge. Your mum had told you about the Rainbow Bridge when your hamster had died. The hamster was mean and bit you a lot, so you never missed it, but your mum had promised that you would see Blizzard in heaven on the other side of the Bridge and that he would be nice and not bite. You told Sherlock this as you waited, and he nodded numbly.  
  
The familiar black car pulled up to the sidewalk, and you walked towards it first, tugging Sherlock by the arm gently.  
  
"Hi Mrs. Holmes," you said. "Did my mum call you?"  
  
The blonde woman smiled wanly at you. "She did. We're talking Redbeard to the vet this evening before dinner. Would you like to come?"  
  
You nodded solemnly and stepped into the car ahead of Sherlock, who crawled in behind you. Mycroft gave you a small smile from the front seat--he didn't scare you anymore, not after he'd played catch with you while Sherlock had to clean his bathroom. You gave a small smile back.  
  
"So, how was your day today?" Sherlock's mum started. "Did you think about Redbeard or was school enough to take your mind off of it?"  
  
"Mrs. Holmes," you started matter-of-factly, "Sherlock doesn't want to talk about Redbeard because it makes him very sad. I think we should think of something else to talk about."  
  
Mrs. Holmes made the same face that the receptionist had made when you'd hung up the phone on your mum and made a strange giggle. "Alright, dear. A good thought. You're a very good friend, you know that?"  
  
You thanked her and spent the rest of the car ride telling her about some boring art project you were doing so that Sherlock wouldn't have to say anything.  
  
  
  
A few hours later, you were getting back in the car again. This time, Sherlock's dad was here; Sherlock had to scoot into the middle of the back seat to make room for Mycroft on his right. He did so quietly as his dad opened the door to help Redbeard climb onto the three kids' laps. The dog was shaking and weak, but he still managed to give you a friendly lick before settling his head down onto your lap. You looked at him sadly and ran a hand over his head, petting him softly.  
  
You didn't usually see Sherlock's dad unless you stayed for dinner; he tried to make some conversation with everyone, and you tried in vain to think of things to say, but with the dying dog on your lap you found it hard to think. A few silent tears slipped from your cheeks to fall on the dog's soft fur. You looked over to see Sherlock crying too--but Mycroft didn't look very sad. He just looked serious as always. You wondered if he didn't play with Redbeard very much, sadly thinking that if he hadn't, he'd missed out on a very good dog.  
  
The cheerful posters of the vet's office seemed to taunt you as you walked in slowly, your hand still on Redbeard's head as Sherlock's dad held him. The dog's breathing was labored and wheezy, and you could tell he was a very sad dog. You hoped he would feel better on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge.  
  
You reached out to grab Sherlock's hand as his dad's name was called and you left the waiting room. He squeezed your hand back tightly. By this time, the two of you were both crying hard, not making any noise but still attracting the sympathetic smiles of everyone in the waiting room.  
  
"It'll be alright," you promised Sherlock. "We'll see Redbeard again, and he'll be happy, a-and healthy, a-and t-the same as he used t-to be."  
  
The vet talked in a soothing voice to everyone as you and Sherlock stood on your toes to see Redbeard on the table.  
  
"Alright, I'm going to give him the shot, and he'll fall asleep peacefully in a few minutes."  
  
"No," Sherlock cried softly. "No..." You held his hand tighter and didn't take your eyes off the dog.  
  
"Good boy, Redbeard," you told him. "Good boy."  
  
His tail thumped once weakly on the table before his eyes closed. He continued to breathe for a minute, but you didn't stop looking at him until his side rose and fell for the last time. You barely felt Mrs. Holmes' soft hands guiding you back to the car as you dissolved into tears, too shocked and devastated to register anything more than the feel of Sherlock's hand still in yours.  
  
  
  
"… and you were the best dog that ever lived," you finished, setting a pretty bouquet of roses and hydrangeas down by the gravestone along with your short farewell speech.  
  
"That was good. Did you write that?" Sherlock asked you, smiling a little. The two of you still missed your most loyal crew member, but it was getting easier. The funeral, scheduled a couple of weeks later, consisted of you, Sherlock, Mycroft, and both of your parents. It was getting easier to think about Redbeard without feeling like you were going to cry.  
  
You nodded. "Yeah. Did you like it?"  
  
"I loved it. It was very nice," Sherlock said, giving you a bigger smile. It was nice to see your friend getting back to normal. You looked at the pretty flowers everyone had brought, and you smiled a little yourself imagining Redbeard seeing the flowers and chewing them up. He wouldn't understand that flowers were for looking at, not playing with. He'd been such a silly dog.  
  
You gave the tombstone one last glance, the inscription Sherlock had insisted on clear in the Saturday sunlight.  
  
_Here lies Redbeard, a friend and companion_  
who waits for us on the other side of the  
Rainbow Bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This absolutely broke my heart to write. This was very hard.  
> I've lost a number of my own pets, and I knew Sherlock had lost Redbeard at around the age of year three... so I figured if you were with him, it would help.
> 
> I'm going with a theory that claims that Redbeard might be part of why Sherlock is so emotionally detached; and now that he has a good friend he might not pull away so heavily from being emotionally involved. Sherly needs a friend and a hug. :3
> 
> The next part will be much happier, I promise ^^


	4. Playground Turmoil

“So, what do you want to do?” asked Hannah.  
  
It was Sherlock’s turn to stay back and clean the desks off, so he would be late to recess. You sighed. “I don’t know. What do you want to do?”  
  
Hannah shrugged. “We could play on the monkey bars.”  
  
“Okay,” you agreed, looking back at the classroom door. You didn’t usually play there with Sherlock anymore, so you hoped he would be able to find you when he came out.  
  
“Can you do monkey bar tricks?” Hannah asked, her eyes lighting up as you approached the monkey bars.  
  
You weren’t aware people could do tricks on the monkey bars. “What kinds of tricks?” you asked skeptically.  
  
“You know, skipping bars. Swinging and jumping. Hanging upside down,” Hannah said as though this was common knowledge. “All the girls do them. Well, except you. You’re always playing with Sherlock.”  
  
You got the feeling that this was supposed to be a bad thing. “We like to play adventure games instead,” you told her, hoping she might tell you that the other girls played those, too. You’d only recently started branching out after realizing that Sherlock didn’t enjoy playing with Barbies as much as you. You’d decided you needed to find someone who would play Private Investigator Barbies with you, because Sherlock would only play that game if you acted it out. You liked dolls better, sometimes.  
  
“Sherlock’s kind of weird, isn’t he?” Hannah said, clearly not intending to hurt your feelings but still doing so. You stuck your lower lip out a little.  
  
“No, not really. I don’t think so.” You were doing your best to make friends with Hannah, but so far you didn’t like her blunt personality very much.  
  
Hannah flounced over to get in line for the monkey bars, and you trailed after her. “He’s always reading books the older kids are supposed to read, and he’s mean sometimes. We were shoulder partners, remember? And he never talked to me when Mrs. Newman told us to talk to our shoulder partners.”  
  
“That’s ‘cause he works best alone,” you defended. “It’s not your fault. He might not even work with _me_ if we sat together.” Coming from you, that meant a lot--you and Sherlock were best friends. Truthfully, you couldn’t imagine him just ignoring you like he did the other kids, but you wanted Hannah to like your friend, too.  
  
“Still,” Hannah said, “it’s kind of rude.”  
  
You couldn’t deny her that. Sherlock wasn’t always very nice. He always had an explanation and an apology later, but you often had to correct him when he said something mean. _Sherlock,_ you’d tell him, _that’s not very nice to say to people._  
  
 _Why?_ he’d asked, irritated.  
  
 _Because when you say that it makes people feel like you don’t like them, and then they won’t like you!_  
  
Usually he just said something like _Why should I care if someone likes me or not?_ , and then usually you just said something like _Well, wouldn’t you be sad if I didn’t like you anymore?_ After that he just didn’t say anything, and you knew that meant you were his bestest friend. You liked being bestest friends with Sherlock.  
  
“So, are you going to do any tricks? You have to say, otherwise you might take a long time and get kicked off,” Hannah told you. You thought for a moment.  
  
“I don’t think I will. I only did the monkey bars back in year one when we had to climb the rigging to get to the crow’s nest,” you admitted. You recognized the look people got on their faces when Sherlock used a very big word they didn’t understand, and you hurried to explain. “I only played on them when I was being a pirate with Sherlock.”  
  
Hannah nodded and turned to talk with Holly, who was in front of you in the line. Your old friend didn’t talk with you much anymore--she was quite popular now, and her best friends were Hannah and a new girl called Elisabeth. She was still nice to you, though, which made you happy. At least she wasn’t rude like some of the other girls.  
  
It was almost your turn on the monkey bars--you hadn’t remembered the line ever being quite this long. Apparently it was very popular among all the other girls in your year, though. You glanced back at the classroom door, now very far off, hoping that Sherlock would emerge. You weren’t sure you wanted to play with these girls anymore. They were ignoring you now.  
  
“Whee!” cried Hannah as she swung across, skipping a bar each time. You rubbed your hands together nervously. You were next.  
  
“Trick?” asked the girl behind you.  
  
“What?” you asked, confused.  
  
“Are you tricking, or not?” she asked impatiently. Hannah had gone across and you were holding up the line.  
  
“Uh… no,” you answered, remembering that you had to tell people if you were going to do something like skip bars. Reaching a hand out, you grabbed the yellow bar and swung. You moved your weight forward, ready to grab the next bar… that never met your hand. You tumbled from the monkey bar and fell to the ground below. A searing pain came over your knee and hands where you’d landed, and you began to cry.  
  
Laughter rang out above you. “You can’t even do one monkey bar? Ha!”  
  
“No wonder she never plays with us.”  
  
You looked up tearfully to see all of the girls snickering at you. Even Holly was smiling--and it wasn’t a nice smile. That hurt more than everyone else to see your old friend laughing at you for something so stupid as falling off the monkey bars. You stumbled to your feet, ready to run. Where, you didn’t know.  
  
Suddenly, in the distance you saw him emerging from the classroom--it was Sherlock! Still crying, you ran from the playground towards him, catching him in a tight hug.  
  
“W-what’s wrong, (f/n)?” he stammered, trying to pull you off of him so he could look you in the eyes.  
  
You tried to compose yourself for him because you knew he didn’t like it when you cried. “I-I tried to go across the m-monkey bars so that I c-could find someone to play Barbies with ‘c-cause you don’t like playing with dolls, and I fell off, and e-everybody laughed at me and th-they made fun of you a-and now my knee hurts,” you cried, trying not to let your voice break. You hoped Sherlock would understand you--sometimes you had to repeat yourself when you were already sobbing, and then no one could understand your hysterics. Sherlock hated hysterics.  
  
“Okay,” he said gently, “let’s go down to the nurse’s office so you can get a band-aid and then we can play somewhere they won’t laugh at you.”  
  
You gave him a watery smile, and he held your hand all the way down to the nurse’s office, even though you had a scrape and his hand got a little bit bloody. Sherlock really was the best friend you could ever have, you thought gratefully as the nurse bandaged your wounds. Even if he wouldn’t play Private Investigator Barbies with you. Well, technically it was _policewoman_ Barbie because Private Investigator wasn’t a real Barbie, but Sherlock said that Private Investigators were part of the police sometimes so it was okay. He was very smart.  
  
“I’m not ever gonna play with those other girls again,” you promised him on your way out of the nurse’s office. “We’re going to stay together for _ever_.” Your friend smiled.  
  
“Okay,” he agreed. Sometimes he wasn’t much for words, but you knew what he meant. It meant he wanted to stick together forever with you, too. And that was a promise, you knew, even if you didn’t make it a ‘pinky’ one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeee ^^ :heart: ((I wasn't going to post this so soon, but Redbeard's death was way too sad to just leave you there. Have a tissue ^^))  
> You realize that even if Sherlock isn't the perfect friend, there are worse friends out there.
> 
> This is the stage of development where best friends become very important to little girls. Reader is sort of idolizing Sherlock atm--don't worry, as she gets older it will fade. I don't even know if there's going to be any romance in this series at all. Right now it's purely platonic ^^ I intend to keep it that way for some time (and perhaps the whole thing unless people really want to see romance in here.)


End file.
